


Perversion of Justice

by Aewin



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bickering, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/F, Fingerfucking, Legislacerators, Nook Eating, Object Penetration, Sarcasm, Snark, Troll Rose, Xeno, psionic play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 20:17:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aewin/pseuds/Aewin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took you sweeps to decide whether you wanted to comfort and protect her, or drive her to something better and grant her the confidence she needs to truly be the best trainee legislacerator around—other than you, of course. In the end, it’s a rather puerile disagreement that decides you on the matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perversion of Justice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Innsmouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innsmouth/gifts).



> This is a ship that I now ship that I never would have thought to ship. Thanks, Innsmouth. Wonderful prompt, and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> The prompt was:
>
>> Troll Rose and Terezi as dueling legislacerators. Either red or black is perfectly alright with me. If they end up screwing in a broom closet in one of the corridors of the courtblock or anything of the like, that's good too. Go wild.

The first time you meet Terezi Pyrope, you do not copulate.

In fact, you do not do so for quite some time after meeting her, because, while she is infuriating and sometimes nigh-on insufferable, she is also obnoxiously pitiable in her own warped, twisted way. Not for her blindness, no—she’s more than capable despite it, strong enough to be let into the hallowed halls of the legislacerator academy despite a defect she should have been culled for, much in the same way that you, as a rustblood, were industrious enough to avoid the same fate—but rather because she _works so damn hard_ to uphold her reputation, yet you can see right through that constant, toothy grin to the insecure grub at the core. She wants to be the best at any cost, and with the right pushing she might actually succeed.

It took you sweeps to decide whether you wanted to comfort and protect her, or drive her to something _better_ and grant her the confidence she needs to truly be the best trainee legislacerator around—other than _you_ , of course. In the end, it’s a rather puerile disagreement that decides you on the matter.

“Rose, are you _certain_ this was the chapter assigned by Her Esteemed Edjudicator?” Terezi removes her regulation translucent book preservation sheet from the textbook and snaps it shut with a _thud_ , then shakes the built-up saliva onto the floor while she continues. You wince in solidarity with the academy’s unfortunate janiterrorists. This book repository will never be the same after her term as a student. “I seem to recall reading these exact details about the Dim Season Treaty last perigee.”

You breathe in deeply, and force yourself to not grind your chewstubs. “I believe I have told you on more than one occasion that my name is Roslin. Roslin Alonde, not _Rose_ , and I find it somewhat curious that a student so high in the rankings cannot remember such a simple fact _._ Also, I am quite certain that I am not a frail piece of questionably odoriferous xenoflora, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Why yes, it _is_ all the same to me! Thank you for noticing my complete lack of concern for your preferences. But you didn’t answer my question, my delicious strawberry darling. Was this—or was this _not—_ the chapter assigned tonight?”

It wasn’t, of course. And she’d know that if you hadn’t stolen her copy of the lesson plans. Again. It’s simply _delightful_ to make her ask for your help.

“One moment,” you say, as faux-sweetly as you can muster, and abscond with your syllabus. You’re the only two students dedicated enough to be doing homework at one in the afternoon, so the book repository is deserted, and things go quickly. Three minutes of deep breathing and paper-copying later, you slap a replica onto the table in front of Terezi, and she sniffs heavily.

“There. A copy of the syllabus. You do know what those are, yes? A piece of paper, which I am reasonably certain was presented to you at the beginning of the school year, with the assignments for the entire course on it. A veritable triumph of trollish ingenuity, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

You begin to turn, in an effort to return to your earlier seat, but a tight, bony grip settles around your wrist. You face Terezi just in time to see a flash of teeth as she opens her mouth.

“Yes, imagine that. A handy piece of paper that _somehow_ manages to keep drifting away from me despite its usefulness. I wonder what could be responsible for that, hmm? Certainly not a redblooded prodigy looking for excuses to spend more time with me, trading barbed words and looks so pointed that even the chronically sightless can see them. Of course not. Because that would be _quite_ bizarre, even for this academy.”

“Indeed.” You attempt to shake her hand off, but her grip only tightens. You should have known better than to keep ‘misplacing’ her papers. Of course, you _thought_ you’d done it discreetly, but…perhaps she heard you, despite your light gait? You’re still not entirely certain how strong her senses _are_.

“Rose, you have quite a distinctive scent. Don’t pretend it wasn’t you.”

You tug away from her again, but her highblood strength is far superior to yours. You’re stuck. Well, it’s not like she doesn’t already _know_. You might as well confess and see where this goes. “Indeed, it was. I don’t deny that you are quite infuriating, and that I made an attempt to improve that seemingly-horrid short-term memory of yours. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to have worked. Alas, you are as forgetful as ever.”

“Forgetful, my ass!” she hisses. “Who’s the one that froze up and forgot the Twelve Tenets of Terrorization during our mock trial, hmm? You’re better than that, Rose, and I _know_ it. What was your pan damage that night?”

“I believe you’re forgetting that I had to drain myself psionically just to keep _your_ lusus from eating the poor student playing the part of the accused. I was a _teensy bit_ preoccupied, thank you very much.” It’s taking everything you’ve got not to straight-up yell at her; your composure is quite rapidly deteriorating.

“Excuses! Pyralspite was simply following his nature. If anything, you _lost_ us points with that stunt; I assume the student was truly guilty of _something_ , and Pyralspite could smell it on him. The council was likely enough testing us on that. If we’re docked points for it when we receive our grades, I’ll—”

Will she _ever_ get to the point? “You’ll what? Flirt with me some more? Face it, Pyrope—you’re a tease, plain and simple. It’s almost as if you’re afraid of me.”

She unexpectedly tackles you, launching herself from the chair and aiming for your waist. She’s slight, but the extra weight is still enough to tip you over, and you land heavily on the floor, your tailbone aching with the impact. The chair clatters noisily to the floor as Terezi pins you to the ground, her weight on your wrists.

“Hmmph. Afraid? No, I think not. Merely waiting for proof that you felt the same.” Her nails dig into you, and you inhale sharply as you realize that this is a scene straight out of one of your stories. The sudden confession of hatred, the consummation of lust, the banter of the eternally-annoyed. It’s quite romantic, really.

“My, my, Terezi. I’m surprised it took you so long. It’s been black as tar for some while, now. Do try to keep up, dear.”

She growls, and there are suddenly sharp teeth hovering a millimeter from your neck. “Keep pace with _this_ , why don’t you?” Her mouth closes around your neck, and your nook pulses with a throb of sudden need as she laps up several pinpricks of blood. You pant in silence for a moment, gathering up your thoughts while she nips marks into your flesh.

“What do I taste like, out of curiosity?”

“Cranberries,” she snarls. “Tart, tangy, and absolutely _infuriating_.”

You chuckle. “I’ve never found cranberries to be particularly spiteful myself. Perhaps you ought to taste again?”

You’re braced for it this time, but it’s a much heavier assault. A gasp slips between your lips, and Terezi seems to take it as encouragement; she shifts down your body and presses her rumble spheres against the lump formed by your emerging bulge. You twitch involuntarily, and she grins at you, all glass-shard sharp and menacing. “You know, Rose…if you’re that certain about this being black, I’d be more than happy to taste directly from the source, as it were.” She licks her lips to emphasize her point, and you’re dizzy from how fast this is moving after sweeps of buildup, but the trick is to _stay composed_. It will rankle her more than anything.

“By all means, help yourself; you could certainly use the nourishment. And, may I remind you, it’s still _Roslin_.” Try as you might to shrug it off, the nickname still bothers you. Damn her for knowing your weak points.

“I intend to nourish myself until you’re dehydrated, you obnoxious wretch.” Her hands move swiftly and unerringly, pushing your skirt into a bunch around your waist, and she leans forwards to breathe hotly over your bulge before ripping through the cloth of your panties with her nails and tossing the excess fabric aside. Your hips arch up to meet her as she licks a stripe down your thrashing bulge and plunges her tongue into your nook without warning.

“ _Oh._ ” Your horns press into the floor almost painfully at the angle your head’s at, but you can’t bring yourself to care overly much.

She chuckles, and the vibrations dissipate through your folds as her tongue finds the sensitive nub of flesh between your sheath and nook. She’s _good_. Two fingers slide into you agonizingly slowly, and you can’t stop yourself from wriggling to get her deeper.

“Aha! The accused blackflirt squirms like a wriggler, indicating certain guilt!”

You take a deep breath, clenching around her in an attempt to keep control of the thrusting; her nails are scratching at your insides, and while it _is_ stimulating, you don’t tend to kink on permanent reproductive damage. “I—ah—never denied my guilt, if you’ll recall. Really, Terezi. You expect to progress beyond nn—Neophyte with logic like that?”

She hisses and crooks her fingers sharply, bumping up against your shame globes. Your legs tremble, and your vision clouds momentarily with swirls of color. “Merely pointing out that the punishment fits the crime, my hateful darling.”

You actually laugh out loud at that one. “You have a most unusual definition of punishment, Pyrope. Are you insinuating you’ve done this before, with other…defendants?”

Another brush of her fingers between your globes, and you groan at the loss of sensation as she removes her tongue—yet again—from your nook to speak. You raise yourself onto your elbows and watch as your bulge smears streaks of red across her face. She doesn’t seem to mind. Knowing her, she’s probably saving it for later.

“No, but I don’t _need_ experience to tell a defendant is guilty when they undulate like a worm on a hook.” She pointedly slurps a path along the lips of your nook, and you buck upwards. She cackles and nods at your waist. “Yes, just like that, Rose. Guilty.”

You almost choke on the wave of pitch hatred that surges through your body. You’ll _make_ her call you Roslin, so help you horrorterrors. A deep breath steadies you, and you seize Terezi with a crackle of psionics as she leans in for another lick. She freezes, unable to move, and you slowly push her away and onto her back, locking each limb down with purple light and spreading her legs wide.

“Ah, but you forget—I’m not the only guilty party here, Terezi.” You draw your knitting needles, tips honed razor-sharp for battle, and slide them—carefully—point-first into the denim of Terezi’s jeans. A quick shift of your mental focus and they’re humming with electricity, edged with cutting sparks. They slide through the material with ease, trailing shocks along Terezi’s dark gray skin.

“Was that really necessary, Rose?”

“Is it really necessary for you to keep calling me Rose?”

“Yes. I rely on your agony for delicious, creamy subsistence.”

You tear off the remaining rags of her pants and clinically push up her shirt. Her rumble peaks are stiff and darkened with arousal, and you can’t resist leaning down for a nibble. She moans, fading off into a hiss, and struggles against the psionic bonds. You chuckle and push yourself into a sitting position astride her stomach, with her bulge squirming against the sheer teal fabric of her underwear. Tiny drops of material bleed through the fabric, and you grind against her for that satisfying arch her back forms when she just can’t control herself.

“Let’s turn our attention to another nickname of mine then, hmm? Haven’t you ever wondered why they call me the Tentacle Therapist?”

“Vaguely, but I abandoned that line of questioning. It was a moot point next to the delicate deliciousness of rose petals.”

You sigh, and twist yourself around, with a needle in one hand. “The secret, which isn’t really a secret, is that I’m quite good at pailing. Inventive, if you will.” You press the needle-tip against her nook, and she gasps.

“Rose, you aren’t—?”

“I most certainly am.” You grimace with concentration as you spin a purplish cloud-web of psionic energy around the needle as a cushion, and begin to push it in. Terezi squirms, and you’re satisfied to note that it’s much more vigorous than your own was. “Simply make me aware if you can’t take it any more, and I shall stop. But I warn you, you’ll be missing out on a treat.”

“My _treat_ needs to get back down here so I can taste her again.” There’s an irritated harshness to her speech, and you can’t say you blame her; you’re more than ready to get to the main event, yourself. You might as well drop the act and just pail her already, since that’s what you’re here for.

(An obtrusive voice in the back of the mind tells you that you’re here to do schoolwork. You dismiss it as irrelevant to the actions at hand, and use your remaining needle to cut away Terezi’s panties.)

Her bulge is long and slightly barbed at the base. Longer than any you’ve taken, for sure, but you _are_ the Tentacle Therapist, and it _will_ fit. You release the needle that’s still in Terezi, holding it in place with psionics, and toss the second aside. You slide down onto her in one fluid moment, leaning forward to nip at her lower lip. A touch of teal wells up, contrasting sharply with the black of her lips, and you’re disappointed to find it only tastes of blood. You were half-expecting some sort of candy, after all her talk of hemospectrum-based flavorings.

Terezi all but deflates when you hit bottom and deliberately squeeze around her barbed base; a high-pitched moan escapes you as her tip flicks against your globes again. Your focus on your psionics wanes as a wave of pleasure washes over you, and Terezi yelps as the needle jabs her harshly.

“I know you’re excited, but please, control your enthusiasm! Even the best of us are required to contribute to the drones, you know.”

You close your eyes and roll your hips against her, re-spinning the web of light around the needle while you murmur agreement. “Imperial Decree number thirteen. I’m quite aware.”

“Twelve.” You loosen your psionic hold on Terezi’s limbs to better focus on forming a phantom tentacle at the needle’s tip. She pushes herself up the moment the bonds weaken, and lunges, half-sitting, towards the papers on the table, but the psionic appendage flicks against her and she loses her balance, knocking a sheaf of papers astray. You tone down your energy output; it’s overkill to use so much power that she gets numb, after all. Rather defeats the purpose of the exercise, honestly.

“It’s thirteen, Terezi. No need to knock the poor papers onto the—a-ahh—floor, I’m sure— _oh_ —” She’s suddenly on your neck again, one hand fondling your rumble spheres through your shirt and the other supporting her weight.

“Wanna bet, cranberry?” Why in the _world_ do you mind being called ‘cranberry’ less than being called ‘Rose’?

“I’d _love_ to, but I’m quite occupied at the moment. You might have noticed.”

Terezi cackles and twists pointedly inside of you, moving her hand from your spheres to your bulge. Her bony fingers are the perfect trellis for it, and she’s obviously skilled enough at handling her own. She starts up a quick squeeze-roll, squeeze-roll cycle that has you snapping your hips into her in impatience as orgasm approaches.

“Well, then. I’ll make the terms simple, since—aah—our little rendezvous seems to be drawing to a close. If you’re right, I call you Roslin for a sweep. If I’m correct—and I am—then a Rose you shall be.”

“You have yourself a deal. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to come sometime soon.” You’re fairly certain you’re correct. And if not—well, that’s the hazard of a healthy kismesissitude, you suppose.

“In that, I may oblige.” She twists against your shame globes again, still working your bulge over, and somehow finagles her own into tapping that sweet spot deep inside. Three intense surges of pleasure sweep over you, so powerful and all-encompassing that at first you think you’re nauseous, but a fourth wave hits and sends you over the edge. You spill over your bunched-up skirts, muffling yourself in Terezi’s neck.

She coils frantically inside of you, obviously close, so you muster up the energy to make your psionic needle-bulge tap against her just like she did to you. You kiss her fiercely as she comes, teeth cutting into flesh and mingling your blood on your chins in sluggishly-moving drops. She’s loud, and she doesn’t attempt to muffle it at all. You’re slightly concerned that a janiterrorist might have overheard, and that you’ll be interrupted soon. Best to wrap this up quickly, then. You take a deep breath and lever yourself off of Terezi, clenching the muscles of your nook to aid in material absorption into your genebladder. It’s a shame she didn’t absorb yours too; now that you’re an official couple, you’ll be required to contribute a pail despite the usual waiver for those training as legislacerators. Then again, you’re not exactly opposed to having another go at it.

You flip your skirt inside-out in a vague attempt at damage control while Terezi changes pants, and by the time you’re done she’s in your face again, thrusting a damp piece of paper at you. It’s a page of notes, and she’s grinning. (Then again, when is she not?) This can’t bode well for your end of the bet.

Imperial Decree #10  
All trolls suspected of plotting rebellion shall be CULLED.

Imperial Decree #11  
All trolls found to be off-spectrum shall be CULLED.

Imperial Decree #12  
All adult trolls not currently enrolled in select Imperial training programs* shall provide ONE (1) pail of flushed material and ONE (1) pail of caliginous material at a minimum, per sweep, or be CULLED.

Imperial Decree #13  
Only those of the Jade caste may assist the Mother Grub in Her duties; all other trolls found to have contact with the Mother Grub shall be CULLED.

The notes go on in much the same fashion for some time, but the point is proven. Terezi wins, and as her kismesis the best and worst thing you can possibly do to her is to submit.

“Well, then. As per the terms of our bet, you may refer to me as Rose for a sweep.” Terezi grins, and you can feel the hair on your neck stand on edge at her sheer obnoxiousness. You make it your mission to knock that expression off her face. “Who knows? Perhaps it will grow on me, and I’ll adopt it permanently. I suppose it’s not such a bad name after all.”

Terezi scowls, and all is right with the world.


End file.
